


Paranoia

by Ewebie



Series: Tumblr Shorts [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drinking Games, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Silly... no smut but building fun and allusions to upcoming rrrwarr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 08:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4298607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the prompt:<br/>This is literally the best party game ever ok so here’s what you do:<br/>Everyone sits in a circle. Whoever goes first whispers a question to the person on their right. The person on the right must answer the question out loud. The trick is, no one else in the circle knows the question. Next, someone flips a flip-flop up in the air. If it lands face up: the asker must say the question out loud to the whole group. If the flip flop lands face down: the asker doesn’t say anything, and everyone in the group is left to wonder what in the world the question was. And you go around the circle like that. The best questions have the answers as people. We like to limit it just to people in the circle, too. It just makes it more fun. Here are some examples of good questions:<br/>* You have to cover someone in the circle completely in peanut butter and lick it all off. Who?<br/>* You and one other person must be surgically bound together for the rest of your life. Who is the other person?<br/>* You and someone in the circle go in a dark room for 1 hour and do unspeakable things. Who?<br/>... the creepy sexual ones are the best, and it’s really fun when you limit it to people in the circle. have fun</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paranoia

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt here: http://ewebie.tumblr.com/post/123573207638/how-to-play-paranoia

It had been a great case. Really and truly thrilling. And John was feeling pleasantly relaxed. Pleasantly humming with the slow ebb of adrenaline. Pleasantly drunk as well, to be frank. And everyone around him looked the same. Well, everyone but Sherlock. John smiled up at him and knocked his shoulder off of the Belstaff encased arm next to him. “Come on, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked down at him and slowly arched a brow. “What?”

“Relax,” John sighed fondly. “Everyone else is.”

“Everyone else is an idiot,” Sherlock hummed.

John chuckled and knocked his glass of scotch off the one sitting in front of Sherlock. “Then so am I. At least take that bloody coat off. It’s room temperature in here, and you’re making me sweat just looking at you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but surprisingly complied. He even picked up the glass and eyed it cautiously.

“It’s scotch,” John murmured, closing his eyes to relish the latest sip he’d taken. “And right good scotch.” When he opened his eyes, Sherlock was staring at him. “What?”

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched. “I just came up with a brilliant way to kill half of the senior staff in the Met.”

He tried to hide his laugh in a snort and ended up coughing hard enough that Greg clapped him on the back. Hard. “Alright there?”

John swallowed and nodded, raising one hand in surrender. “Fine. Yeah. Fine. Just discussing the finer points of things Sherlock is never allowed to do.”

Greg’s face scrunched in a smile or a squint or both. “And what’s that now?”

“If Sherlock ever drops off a bottle of liquor to celebrate a job well done, don’t drink it.” John actually giggled at the look of horror that crossed Lestrade’s face. “And we’ll leave it at that.”

After a moment, Greg shook his head and huffed out a laugh. “You’re going to make me paranoid, mate.”

“Now that was a great game!” Dimmock practically shouted, slapping his palm on the table hard enough that everyone turned with a confused, curious, or alarmed expression.

“What was?” Sally asked cautiously.

“Paranoia,” Dimmock laughed, a drunken flush to his cheeks. “Haven’t played it in years.”

“Oh no,” Sally shook her head, glancing around the table for support. “It’s bad enough I’m drinking in the office at…” She checked her watch and gaped. “It’s after one!”

“And your evening plans are far from ruined considering the other half of them is sitting next to you and likely needs detoxification to perform properly.”

John punched Sherlock’s thigh under the table as Sally frowned. Erikson just chuckled, by far the most intoxicated in the conference room. He shot Donovan a salacious grin, “Loads of time left, Donovan.”

“Time for what?” Molly asked, joining the conversation far too late.

John heard Sherlock’s inhale and punched him again. “Ow,” Sherlock hissed, glaring. John glared back.

Greg cleared his throat and tried not to make his gesture too rude. Molly flushed an alarming shade of pink, “Oh.”

“So… Are we gonna play or what?” Dimmock grinned. “We’ve the alcohol, we’re already at a nice round table. Just don’t have a thong to flip.”

John fished around in his pocket and flicked a two pound coin onto the table. “Heads you talk, tails you drink?”

“It’s how we played on the rugby tips,” Greg agreed. “Donovan?”

Sally sighed and shook her head. “Why not. Andy, you’ve the most to lose here. You in?”

Erickson finished off his scotch. “Why bloody not?” he winked at Sally.

“Molls?”

“Sure.” She nodded and smiled brightly at Lestrade. “I haven’t played a drinking game since I was at Uni.”

John turned toward Sherlock, quietly waiting for him to opt in or out. Sherlock glanced back and furrowed his brow, slowly becoming aware that everyone at the table was looking at him. “What?”

“In or out?”

“In or out of what, John?”

“The game, Sherlock,” John laughed.

He tilted his head, “I… I don’t know that one.”

Sally snickered and John shot her a dirty look. Dimmock leaned forward on the table. “It’s simple. See, the first person, let’s say me, asks the person to their right a question. Whispers, right? So they’re the only two that know the question.”

“Has to be a ‘who’ question,” Erikson chimed in.

Dimmock nodded. “Right, who questions. Then the second person has to answer out loud.”

“Have to keep it in the room,” Lestrade offered. “It’s only fun if it’s someone here.”

Dimmock grinned. “Ok, so who questions, only people in the room as answers. Then the person who answered flips the coin. Heads, they have to say what the question was. Tails, they and whoever they named drink.”

“To what end?”

“It’s fun, Sherlock,” Molly chided.

“But what’s the point in knowing the answer to an unknown question? And even if you don’t know the question, why drink?”

“I see what you mean now, John,” Greg clinked his glass off of John’s.

“What do you mean, what he means?” Sherlock demanded.

John groaned. “It’s a game, Sherlock. You get to learn things about other people. Or you get langered. Either way, it’s a laugh.” He still looked skeptical. “Just… Tell you what, I’d bet that even if it’s tails, you’ll still be able to deduce the question. And we’ll just have to get you drunk enough that you can’t.”

“So, the inebriation is the goal?” he asked carefully.

John chewed on his lower lip. “Sort of… But… The idea is that, like, the person who has to answer is either embarrassed or the person who gets named is paranoid about the question or… It’s just…” he gave an exasperated sigh. “Try. Yeah?”

The expression was similar to whenever John asked him to removed toxic mold spores from the kitchen or bin the entrails fermenting on the bathroom counter, but it was accompanied by a reluctant nod.

“Great,” Lestrade thunked the two remaining unopened bottles of scotch on the table. “Everyone top up.”

“Is this really the best use of such a wonderful thank you gift?” Sherlock grumbled.

“We are certainly not bringing a whole case of it home. We’ll never finish it.” John opened one of the bottles and started refilling the glasses around the table, beginning with Sherlock’s.

“Right, who’ll start?” Dimmock asked, spinning the coin in front of him.

Sherlock snatched it neatly between his thumb and forefinger, “Why don’t I begin?”

Greg grinned and drummed his hands on the lip of the table. “This ought to be good.”

Sherlock quickly scanned the occupants of the room, then smirked, leaned over to Dimmock, and whispered something in his ear. Dimmock grinned and laughed, “Oh, that’d be John.”

“What?” John furrowed his brow.

Dimmock took the coin from Sherlock’s hand and flipped it, peaking at it quickly then pouting. “Damn. Heads.”

“So what was the question?” Greg asked.

Dimmock shrugged. “He asked who I thought was best with a gun.”

John let out relieved huff and clinked his glass off of Dimmock’s. “Thanks, mate.”

“Don’t start,” Lestrade scolded with false severity.

Sherlock smirked and stooped, murmuring in John’s ear, “Paranoia, hm?”

John shoved him. “Berk.”

“Mmn,” Sherlock hummed.

Dimmock leaned over and hissed something to Donovan. Sally blinked. “Sherlock,” she said flatly. Sherlock’s face shed the amusement as he watched Donovan flip the coin. “Tails,” she gave a closed lip smile and raised her glass to Sherlock.

“You’d never get away with it though,” Sherlock muttered into his scotch as he took a generous sip.

Sally snorted and crossed her arms, but tilted her head in acknowledgement. Then she leaned over and whispered to Erikson.

Andy drew back, smiled to her alone, winked, and said, “Sherlock.”

“Oh, for the love,” Sherlock objected. John gave Sally a look of question, but she shrugged with a wry smirk on her lips.

“Ah, tails,” Andy called. “Bottoms up, Mr. Holmes.”

Sherlock frowned at him, but took a sip again. “Childish.”

Andy winked at him and leaned over to pose a question to Molly. Molly looked thoughtful for a moment then nodded solemnly as if there were no other possibility, “Sherlock.”

“Thank you, Molly,” Sherlock said, preening a bit. John wrinkled his nose at Sherlock, raising a brow. Sherlock shrugged.

“Oh. Tails,” Molly said resignedly and sipped her scotch. Sherlock flashed her a moderately real smile and finished his glass. John shook his head and refilled the glass.

Molly cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered in Greg’s ear. Greg laughed. “Oh, God.” He laughed again. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s face wrinkled in distaste. “Agreed.”

Greg slapped the coin onto the table and peered at it, “Whew, tails.” Sherlock snorted at him and they clinked glasses before taking a sip.

“Hm,” Greg had a thoughtful expression on his face for a moment. Then he wrapped an arm around John’s shoulder and dropped his voice low, “Pick a roommate. Anyone in the room. But you’re stuck with them for the rest of your life.”

John’s snort brought a smile to his face as he glanced up at the ceiling. “God help me,” he murmured. He sighed, “Sherlock. Yeah.”

Sherlock eyed him for a moment. “Really?”

“Yup,” John sighed. He flipped the coin. “Boom. Tails.”

Sherlock kept watching as John took a sip of his scotch. “You’re serious?”

“Course I am.” John squinted at him. “Are you deducing all of the questions?”

Sherlock grinned. “Obviously.”

“Alright then, genius.” John bobbed his head so Sherlock had to lean down. “You have to be surgically attached to another person in this room for the rest of your life.”

“That’s not a question, John,” Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

John rolled his eyes. “Who?”

Sherlock sniffed and tilted his chin up. “Gavin.”

“Who?” Andy asked.

John giggled as Lestrade covered his face with his hands. “It’s Greg,” he grumbled through his palms. “And you know it, ya git.”

“Heads,” Sherlock murmured. “Interesting.”

“What?” Greg asked, bracing himself.

“John asked who I’d pick to be surgically attached to,” Sherlock hummed.

“You are a sick, sick man, Watson,” Greg shook his head. “Why me?”

“Because you couldn’t refuse to let me have the interesting cases.” Sherlock’s grin was absolutely feral, and John burst out laughing again.

“God help me.” Greg took an unrequired, but very necessary sip of his drink.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair for a moment and John could see the scotch already catching up with him. He doubted anyone else would notice yet, but the slight pink in the man’s ridiculous cheekbones, the eighty percent speed blinking, the tiny variations in his pitch; Sherlock was actually, slightly, partially, mostly, half-way tipsy. John grinned. At least he was relaxing then. Sherlock was murmuring to Dimmock.

Dimmock furrowed his brow and made an inquisitive sound. Sherlock added something, and Dimmock’s face lit up in a juvenile manner as he eyed the people at the table. He made his way back around to Sherlock and gave him a rather puggish look. “Watson.”

“What?” John looked at him

At the same time Sherlock’s brow shot up, “Really?” But rather than challenging Dimmock’s answer, he turned to look at John, scrutinizing him carefully. “Are you sure?” he asked almost absently.

“Oh yeah,” Dimmock grinned. “Tails.” Then Dimmock tugged Sherlock’s face close and whispered something that had Sherlock’s brow shooting up. “Yeah,” Dimmock nodded.

“Huh,” Sherlock said.

John pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. Yeah, he was feeling a bit paranoid at that one. He gave Dimmock one more cross glare and took a shot of his scotch to finish the glass. Right. “Ta,” he muttered at Sherlock then set about refilling his glass and topped up a few of the others around the table. Greg clapped a hand on his shoulder in thanks.

Dimmock waved Sally closer and hissed a question at her. Donovan laughed, “Sherlock.”

Dimmock frowned for a second then shook his head. “That was supposed to be a sexy question,” he muttered louder than intended.

“Can’t it be both?” Sally smirked. “Tails.”

“That’s disturbing, Sally.” Sherlock grinned in a way that made John shift in his seat.

“Agreed,” she raised her glass in mock salute and took a large swig. Sherlock did the same.

“What was it?” John asked lowly.

“Hm?” Sherlock tilted his head.

“The question. What was it?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you,” Sherlock purred. “Seems like that would go against the spirit of the game.”

John frowned.

Erikson looked up from where he’d had his head together with Donovan, a boyish grin on his face. “Sherlock,” he said loudly.

Sherlock’s head swung around, the movement just overshooting its mark. “That is patently incorrect,” he waved his hand dismissively.

“No one said it had to be right,” Andy grin widened. “And oh, look at that: tails. Cheers, there, Sherlock.”

Sherlock grumbled something about observational failures and drank the rest of his glass in one go. Sally laughed into her hand. John sighed, “That was like, three fingers in two swigs there.” He refilled the glass.

“So?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John.

John blinked at him. “So think about it there, genius.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Idiot,” his tone was affectionate.

“John,” Molly said timidly with a slight tinge to her cheeks.

Both of John’s brows went up as he glanced between Molly and Andy. “John? John what?”

Molly peeked at the coin. “Oh! Heads!” She blushed again. “He asked whose life experience I’d like to better understand.”

John glanced around in confusion. “Mine?”

“Yeah,” Molly nodded.

John’s face scrunched. “But… I’m boring.”

Sherlock laughed, a deep and rumbling chuckle that brought a blush to John’s cheeks.

“You were in the Army,” Greg supplied.

“And you were a surgeon,” Dimmock added.

“And you can survive that tall drink of water,” Andy nodded at Sherlock, who scoffed in return.

“Yeah, but that’s…” John opened his hands in weak protest.

“You’re good with people,” Molly said softly. “I can’t… There’s a reason I’m in pathology rather than GP,” she shook her head. “Look at who you keep as friends.” She waved a hand around the table.

“I’ve told you,” Sherlock’s voice curled along his ear. “You’re quite fascinating.”

John suppressed a shiver. “You’re all madder than a bag of wet cats,” he said unconvincingly. And he took a drink to calm his nerves.

“Idiot,” Sherlock murmured again.

Greg chuckled and wrapped a hand around John’s shoulder and gave a friendly shake. “It’d take crazy to recognize crazy, ya mad bastard.”

John laughed. “Fine, fine,” he held up both hands. “We’re all loo-la.”

“Quite right,” Erickson grinned, his palm laying casually on Sally’s knee.

“You’re mental,” Sally murmured.

“Right, so,” Greg clapped his hands. “Where were we?”

Molly cupped her hand around Greg’s ear and started whispering. Greg’s brows went up as she continued. “That… That’s not a question,” he flushed as Molly kept going. And when she finished, he looked at her with fear and awe and a healthy embarrassed color to his face. “Molly Hooper, you dangerous little deviant.”

Molly blushed and giggled, looking anywhere but Greg’s face.

Lestrade cradled his forehead in his palm and toyed with his scotch. “Uh… Well…”

“No,” Sherlock groaned.

“Yeah,” Greg replied weakly. “Sherlock.”

“No! Delete!” Sherlock pressed his fingertips to his temples. “Delete, delete, delete.”

John couldn’t decide if he was more amused or concerned. “What?”

“Oh shit,” Molly giggled. “Heads.”

“Fuck,” Greg laughed helplessly.

“No! Stop!” Sherlock complained. “Delete!”

John started laughing in spite of himself. “What? What was the question?”

“Uh…” Greg took a swig of his scotch. “Molly asked…” He glanced at Molly. “She asked who I thought was the best at solving puzzles.”

Molly raised an eyebrow but giggled and took a sip of her drink.

“No. Lies,” Sherlock hissed. “No, wait. No. Just… Delete!” He threw back the entirety of his drink.

John huffed at him. “Whoa there tiger.” He topped up the glass with only two fingers.

“See, being clever is bad for you,” Sally laughed.

Greg just shook his head, the color in his face slowly receding, as he seemed to find his level again. Molly winked at him again and he burst out laughing. He shook a finger at her. “Dangerous,” he scolded. After a moment, he collected himself, and gave John a long look before dragging John and his chair a foot closer.

John looked up in alarm as Greg’s arm slung around the back of the chair and he shifted to bring their heads together. “Alright,” he said softly. “Because I know for a fact that he won’t delete that, and as soon as you’re home, he’ll blab anyway…” Greg sighed. “Turnabout is fair play.”

John furrowed his brow and shook his head slightly. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

“He’s right,” Sherlock piped up from where he was lazing in his chair.

It was too far away to hear what Lestrade was saying, so John swatted at him. “Stop deducing the questions, twat.”

Sherlock scoffed and crossed his arms, turning to talk to Dimmock.

“So, fair’s fair,” Greg cleared his throat roughly. “If you knew he wanted it as bad as you do. If you knew the advances would be welcome. If you weren’t as bloody stupid as you pretend to be,” Greg squeezed his shoulder. “Would you just fucking get it over with and screw the ever-loving shit out of him?”

John felt the blush start to rise up the back of his neck as he shifted in his chair.

“Like, seriously, John. Would you just fuck his brain off-line? The tension is so thick between you two, it’s damn near suffocating. And I swear to God, the amount of unprotected eye-sex, I’m surprised I’m not blind.”

John coughed out a laugh, but his ears were practically on fire and he knew his face had gone crimson.

“Fuck him so hard he forgets his name, yeah? He’ll thank you. Well, he won’t will he? Because he’s… well… he won’t. But trust me. John. For the love of all that is holy. Would you just take the sodding plunge on this?”

John knew his mouth was hanging open; how long it’d been doing that, he wasn’t sure. Possibly from the third time Greg had used the word fuck. He wet his lips nervously. “I think Sherlock was right, he’s not the drunkest one in the room.”

“Ha! See!” Sherlock tipped his glass at Andy. “John’s clever enough to deduce the question _and_ know that you’re wrong.”

John gave him a weak smile. Then turned back to Greg. Greg wiggled his brows suggestively. “So?”

John shook his head slowly. “I…” The flush was back, all along his neck, his cheeks, his nose. “That wasn’t really a who question… I don’t think,” he offered lamely.

Greg grinned. “Oh.” He curled a hand around John’s neck and drew him forward until their foreheads were touching. “If you were to turn around, who do you think is shooting menacing and possessive daggers at me with his eyes because I’m touching you?”

John sat back quickly and patently refused to look at Sherlock. He gripped his glass for a moment and took a swig. And he wasn’t shocked when he felt the warm hand on his shoulder. “John?”

Fuck. He pressed his eyes shut and nodded. “Yup. Sherlock.” He nodded again, wet his lips, and plastered a fake smile on his face. He gave Greg a dirty look as he felt Sherlock trying to sort out the question. Nope. Not going to look. He flipped the coin and breathed a sigh of relief. “Tails. And fuck you very much Greg.” He took another large sip of his scotch and nudged Sherlock’s glass closer with his own. “Drink up.”

Sherlock gave him a puzzled look, “You’ll tell me later?” he murmured.

John nearly choked on his scotch. Then he started laughing. He laughed so hard he doubled over in a fit of giggles. Lestrade joined him with full belly chuckles. Sherlock frowned and continued trying to parse out the humor. Finally John collected himself and straightened up with a sigh. “Well.”

“Oi, no copping out,” Donovan complained. “You finish this round, Watson.”

John flushed and shifted in the chair. “Right. Fine.” Right. One more question, then they could go home, escape the madness. He tried to adopt a serious air and looked at Sherlock, watched the slow blink, the tinge of color at the crest of his cheekbones, the slight unsteady sway as he leaned toward John. Fuck it. “Right.”

He leaned forward, catching the back of Sherlock’s neck and bringing his lips to the man’s ear. “Alright, genius,” John whispered. “Who do I want to take home and shag senseless on every surface of the flat?”

Sherlock tried to pull back, but John wouldn’t let him. There was no way he could actually look him in the eye, he could see the blush already suffusing Sherlock’s face. “John,” he whispered.

John cleared his throat. “Nope.”

Sherlock sucked in a breath and tugged himself free, siting upright and narrowing his eyes. “That’s not…”

“What?” John chewed on his lower lip.

“The answer can’t be me,” Sherlock objected. “It’s not in the rules!”

“Since when do you care about rules?” John asked with a smirk.

“But…” Sherlock looked to Lestrade for help and found none.

Well, John felt better. Maybe it was the scotch humming in his blood, maybe it was something else. He flipped the coin up into the air and Sherlock swatted it down onto the table. John raised a brow.

Sherlock looked. “Tails.”

John’s smile grew. He picked up his glass and drained it, carefully replaced it on the table and stood. “Well, this has been lovely. Must do it again. Sherlock?”

Sherlock looked up at John with wide eyes. “What?”

John met his gaze as Sherlock tried to pick apart the rapid fire expressions that flashed across John’s face. John bobbed his head toward the door. “Home?”

Sherlock slammed his drink and stood, fumbling into his coat and turning so quickly it swirled past where it belonged and took a few extra steps to settle. “Yes.”

John chuckled as Sherlock darted from the room. He nodded to the occupants, winked at Greg, and ducked out after his flatmate. John didn’t catch up to Sherlock until he reached the curb, where a taxi was just pulling up. John slid in after Sherlock and pulled the door shut. “So…”

Sherlock raked his gaze over John. “So?”

John grinned. He set a hand on Sherlock’s knee and squeezed. “Not here.”

“No?”

“No.” John turned to look out the window.

Sherlock shifted, sliding halfway across the bench seat to invade John’s space. “You’re right,” he purred in John’s ear. “Not here. Just on every surface in the flat."

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone wants to read what the questions were... they're here: http://ewebie.tumblr.com/post/123720689138/spoilers-kinda


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